i've been bad

Even though life has been eventful these past few weeks, i haven't felt like putting it down on script. anyway, here's a summary:
2 thursdays ago i met up with Erika at the Tinsletown theatre to see Sideways. it was mediocre at best. there were two scenes that struck me, however. One in which the author addresses his friend and informs him that he cannot commit suicide (a la Plath, Woolf, etc.) unless he is published. The second scene involves the author sneaking into a 'tough' guy's apartment, after his sidekick has fucked the tough guy's wife, to retrieve his keys. He gets caught trying to grap the keys off the bedroom dresser as the tough guy and his wife have sex. it's not a pretty picture, as the wife is homely and fat, and the tough guy is fat with hanging skin, hair, and leathery tattoos. The author runs to the escape vehicle and drives away, and the camera films the tough guy running out into the street after him, fat jiggling about, with a small, hairy penis dangling between his legs. I suppose i was struck by how vulnerable people look when they are naked. unexposed, pasty skin, some roles, funny hair growth, a mole, spindly legs. i suppose this is why i feel such sympathy for those i sleep with-they are so naked, so exposed.
After the movie Erika and I pooled our funds and were left with $10. We ate panini's at a nearby restaurant on Howe and then went off to Hotel hop. Milan was right, the door to the roof of the Vancouver Hotel was open. It was lovely up there, and windy.
next we proceeded to the 4 seasons and also made it to the top floor. Several conferences were being held in the hotel's ballrooms; many unattended. Erika managed to steal 2 sodas and some candy. we proceeded to the Georgia hotel were we lounged on a sofa and drank.
later we walked to the Pan Pacific, where she enticed to me to hop over a few gates that barred us from a spectacular view. when on a walk by the water, she pulled out a joint and we smoked it. Late in the evening we found ourselves in one of my favorite places: the seabus station. Something lovely happens here that i had only experienced with Jonathan. Sometimes the cleaning crew plays opera music, and since the station is vast, the sound bounces off the walls and can be heard clearly. we reclined, and listened. She told me how she had met Christian.
On friday night (2 weeks ago) i met with Anna G. and Suzanne. Since i was still broke Anna took me out for coffee and to see "Finding Neverland." to be honest, I don't see what all the fuss is about Johnny Depp.
Saturday I worked, and then studied, and then worked some more. In the evening, I met with my "interlude" club to see Copenhagen at the Playhouse. I took Cat as my date, and she certainly is/was a stunner in more ways than one. Interestingly Dr. Dickinson was in attendance. He is an English prof. at SFU who specializes in Queer theory, and i view him as a candidate to supervise my thesis. His date for the evening was ...Matt Smith. He was/is a boy that Sofi and I had fought over in our later teens. He wasen't as attractive as I remember. He looked larger. not to say fat, he was a twig in highschool; his face just looked rounder. we exchanged glances and he remarked that my looks had changed. I smirked and snobishly told him that i knew this. He snubbed me for Sofi, and now, though in futility, I was snubbing him back.
The play was boring; i almost fell asleep. Cat seemed to like it: "It was very intelligent. I wonder if the stage design has anything to do with Freud's 3 levels of consciousness."
Sunday I worked-mediating the continuing battle of wills between Deborah and Vania. On principle I side with Vania: Deb is a vulture-waitress who takes all the best tables and tips for herself. I would never tell either of them this, however, i simply agree with whoever is present, in the other's absence. When they're together, i keep my mouth shut (something i'm never apt to do).
Friday night, after writing a tedious English exam on Candian Literature, Cat and I went downtown for some strolling, coffee, and bitching. I'm so crazy about her right now. She's ridiculously intelligent and well read, witty as hell, and encouraging. Later we met with her friends and went to see the play Arcadia at the Frederick Wood theatre at UBC. Arcadia was much, much better than Copenhagen, and i hope to pursue some courses which feature studies on Tom Stoppard. The theme of sex and literature, and passion, was fascinating, indeed.
I've been working all weekend. Yesterday I attended Malcolm's 2nd cousin's funeral. he is also named Malcolm. Since Malcolm's 94 year old grandfather, also named Malcolm, died last September, my Malcolm is now the only Malcolm left in his family. following this trajectory, i told Malcolm that he will die in 6 months, as the deaths of the previous 2 were 6 months apart. Ha, ha. I didn't really know this Uncle Malcolm that has died. I've met him twice at Louise's (my mother-in-law) family reunions. As such, I had a hard time suppressing laughter when I saw some funny things during the service. Malcolm's family seemed very upset-i think they wanted me to cry with them. What irony, I was hiding laughter. I suppose it was a tragic death. In my universe it was better than what can be hoped for, in the end. Two weeks ago, Uncle Malcolm started to feel sick. He didn't really have any reason to suspect that his vomiting, dizziness and sudden weakness were anything other than a common fever. he was, after all, a healthy, athletic 59 year old. A week of still feeling horrid, he finally went to see his doctor. after some bloodwork, his doctor informed him that his cancer had metastasized to the fourth and final stage. He had 3 days to live. On shedule, he passed away a couple of days ago. I think this was a good death - knowledge of its coming, and the pain, was short. further, he was given a 3 days headstart to say goodbye to family and to arrange his affairs. Having said all this: the circumstances of his death, and my laughing in church, may he Rest in Peace.
Finally, i've been thinking a lot about published words. I fully admit that what i write is not completely honest as I am writing with an audience in mind. I mentioned the same sentiment to Mark Little a few months ago (which reminds me, i saw him at the skytrain station today without his glasses on. he looks different, and strangely, more attractive).
When we write to an audience we usually cast ourselves as the hero, and further write in a way that can be swallowed by that audience. Whether what we reveal indicates that our character is heinous or angelic, the point remains that some things will be edited out of the script. there are pieces which we cannot reveal to others, and the internal impulse to skew information about ourselves in the positive is something that cannot be ignored; no matter our intentions at honesty. For those that write their blogs with the pretense of being honest and candid with their audience: you are full of shit. Even Michael Ondaatje can admit that his family history revealed in Running in the Family, is dramatized.
One more thing. Last night I had this wonderful dream where Jonathan and I had slept in the same bed (this should not, in any way, be inferred as sexual. Our relationship was purely platonic), and he awoke me by kissing my face. I miss him, I worry about him. At the same time, i must admit, I am happier, saner. The finaly string connecting me to Milan has been cut (by whom - Jonathan or myself. I can't tell, or perhaps, dont want to). He broke the agreement: he didn't tell me where I stood with him. I also broke it - I was impatient and greedy for his affection.